


Time Anomaly

by beestung2025



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Unspeakable Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beestung2025/pseuds/beestung2025
Summary: 40's Time Travel AU Post-Hogwarts."In essence, time is not a straight line. All points in time exist at once, so as Hermione always asserted, Divination was a load of bunk."





	Time Anomaly

In essence, time is not a straight line. All points in time exist at once, so as Hermione always asserted, Divination was a load of bunk. Or really, it was just the recognition of patterns to increase the likelihood of guesswork coming to pass. Unspeakables that researched time generally laughed at those who researched and worked in the Hall of Prophecy because it’s only if one believes in and acts upon a prophecy will it come to pass. It was a major sore spot for Hermione Granger, mostly because her entire Hogwarts education had been dedicated to aiding her best friend Harry Potter in thwarting before eventually killing who was arguably the darkest wizard of all time, Voldemort. All because of a damn prophecy.

Hermione was pacing in the room where the time artifacts were, wishing there was a better name for it than the Time Room. Even the stupid prophecies got a better sounding title to their artifact room, but at least the subject matter in the Time Room was infinitely more interesting. To her right was a cabinet filled with small glass hourglasses, the entire structure shattering and collapsing before winking back into existence as a whole cabinet in an unending cycle. Eventually, since apparently nobody had thought of it before, Hermione put a permanent silencing charm on it to stop the constant racket while she thought. She thought best on her feet, and was contemplating the task of moving forward in time, as currently with the few remaining time-turner hour glasses left, the only option available was going back in time, and then having to live out the time traveled backwards to get to whatever present there was. Most of the ministry issued time-turners had a block to stop anyone going back more than 24 hours, but there were black market time turners that offered forwards and backwards in time— notoriously untrustworthy at best, particularly if one valued staying alive given the temperamental nature of anything bought on the wizarding black market.

“Lemon Drop?” Hermione jumped at the voice behind her.

“BLOODY HELL MALFOY!” Hermione yelled, trying to dampen the reflex of drawing her wand to an attacker’s neck. Some old habits just won’t die, even if it had been a couple years since the war.

“Calm down Granger, I was just offering some candy. Hey, look at this!” Draco Malfoy flicked one of the little yellow candies into the shattering cabinet cycle where the candy disappeared.

“That isn’t a toy, Malfoy— you can’t just toss candy into a time anomaly. I’m going through some complex calculations right now, so bugger off. Some of us actually do work down here, and I’m thinking.” Hermione grumbled, snatching a candy out of her coworker’s hand.

“Knew you’d want one” Draco Malfoy gloated, giving her one of his trademark smirks and brushing his platinum blond fringe out of his eyes before winking and sauntering out of the room. “Oh and Granger, it’s past 5pm. I know the intricacies of time probably make that meaningless and all, but go home. Your grumbling annoys the voices beyond the Veil.”

Hermione scowled. The Veil was studied as a weak point between Life and Death, and the voices that slipped from beyond the archway where the Veil hung were known to have zero interaction with the living world— her grumbling, if she even grumbled, would never bother them, Hermione thought angrily. She did suppose that Malfoy had a point, and she should jot down her current thoughts before heading home so she could pick up in the morning. Crossing towards her office, Hermione felt herself skid, and lurch sideways towards the shattering cabinet, looking down and seeing one of those stupid candies that Draco had offered her. Darkness swirled around her as she landed her on her shoulder with a thud, and her head bounced on a hard surface, much harder than she would have thought falling onto a wall. Blearily, with head and shoulder smarting, Hermione opened her eyes and realized something was horribly, terribly wrong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Malfoy, you bloody wanker! I hate you!” Hermione groaned, turning onto her back seeing she was on the floor, not against a wall as what should have happened. She was also no longer in the Department of Mysteries, but in a sunny room that, given a perusing glance, realized it was the drawing room in Malfoy Manor. “Ugh and I thought you renovated and replaced this godawful carpet. Least you finally got the bloodstain out.” Hermione continued.

“I- I’m sorry Miss, but I don’t believe we’ve met before. You rather just, uh, appeared. You’re not the guest we were expecting.” a voice responded somewhat hesitantly. Hermione snapped her head around and saw that to her left there was a semi circle of chairs with a small table holding a tea service. Young men occupied all but one of the chairs, and then there was a chair with it’s back to her. Everyone but Hermione and the occupant of the chair with it’s back to her was now standing.

“You’re— you’re not— oh bloody hell.” Hermione groaned and laid her head fall back to the floor.

“What language for a young woman. And just who were you expecting? This is his home and you apparently know where you are.” A male voice like velvet came from the sitting occupant that had yet to reveal himself. 

“Shit shit shit shit. What is the date?” Hermione scrambled to her feet and started backing up.

“Date?” A blonde wizard that had to be a relative of the Draco Malfoy she knew, asked.

“Well, it certainly makes sense. Unless she stole Thoros’ portkey to get past your wards,—“ the velvet voice continued.

“Like wards ever stopped me.” Hermione snorted, before she could stop herself.

“Kill her.” The voice spoke harshly and instantly; the figure finally rising and turning to face her.

“Avada-“

“Protego!” Hermione instantly and instinctive ducked and stuck her hand in front of her, throwing up a shield wandlessly.

“Kedavra!” The green jet of light from one of the men in the semi-circle soared over her, leaving a scorch mark on the wall where it eventually landed.  

“That was just uncalled for.” Hermione kept her shield up and surveyed the room again. She spotted the Malfoy family tapestry on a wall. She hurried over to it, keeping herself shielded with every step. No Draco Malfoy. Not even his father Lucius…

“Oh well I’m just fucked. You’re Abraxas. Are you even out of Hogwarts yet?” Hermione’s stomach plummeted, seeing how young everyone in the room looked. No one could be older than 18, only a couple years younger than herself.

“I believe, we should be asking the questions.You interrupted a meeting of the most private nature, have considerable power and a desire to penetrate wards. So tell me, who are you?” The man who ordered the killing curse against her was disturbingly handsome, in Hermione’s view. He had a continental look— along with dark hair, pale skin, and dark eyes that just drew you in. Hermione could also feel the compulsive magic delicately laced in his voice. Subtle, but not subtle enough; Hermione shook it off.

“So kill first, ask questions later? That’s just brilliant. Idiots, why do I always end up surrounded by wankers and idiots?” Hermione rolled her eyes. A low chuckle escaped the handsome leader. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I share those sentiments frequently. So you know our host’s given name, now that you’ve examined his family tree. You could not have apparated into this room without breaking many wards that are still intact. There was a port key scheduled at your exact arrival in this room, but you are not Thoros. You are clearly a powerful witch, proficient in wandless magic, and are avidly occluding your mind. I ask again, who are you?”

“The brightest witch of her age.” Hermione responded, giving an answer that would mean nothing outside her original timeline, when the media caught onto the nickname that her former professor called her, particularly after she had gotten perfect straight “O” N.E.W.T scores after the war, adding to their repertoire of ‘Brains behind the Golden Trio’ and ‘War-Heroine.’

“A truth, but not a name. Clever evasion.” The handsome man raised his hand. “Leave us” As soon as the order was given the rest of the room’s occupants quickly left the room, eager to be relieved of the tense situation. 

“Please, have a seat. You are welcome to tea.” The handsome leader motioned for Hermione to take a seat in the semi-circle of chairs. Hermione didn’t move until handsome man emphatically took out his wand and laid it on the table. Hermione went and took a seat, the two remaining silent through the exchange. Hermione surmised that he must also be adept at wandless magic, to so ostentatiously ‘disarm’ himself, knowing that she was capable of her own wandless casting. He would have to be stupid as to leave himself helpless, so soon after ordering to kill her. Her gut feeling doubted he was stupid.

“No matter what ill-conceived manner in which you arrived here, it will be better for you to tell me who you are and why you are here. I’m guessing it has something to do with time.” The handsome man looked directly at her taking back up his cup of tea, as Hermione poured herself her own cup.

“I am here due to a time anomaly, an accident to be precise. I do not know who you are. Even if I did, it would be a gross violation to tell you who I am— I would like to exist in my own time. You know of the grandfather paradox? I am quite literally in it.” Hermione replied, fixing her cup and sipping it. It was excellent tea and it soothed her nerves. What a terrible turn of events, she surmised. This was not how she would have envisioned her day to end. Particularly not in the afternoon, sharing tea with a stranger that just ordered her killed as if nothing was wrong with the situation at all; perfect for a British psychopath, Hermione supposed.

“So you are from the future, two generations out. You know of the Malfoys, and yet, you don’t know who I am. Interesting.” The man sipped his tea.

“Is that so?” Hermione looked at the man innocently, batting her eyelashes. She could play innocent if she wanted to, which got her out of many fixes when a little smooth talking and a reputation for being a goody goody aided. As long as she remembered not to cuss, which always worked against her— being best friends with 2 boys for over half of her life including a year living with them on run was a complete disaster for her vocabulary.

“You know of Hogwarts, so you must have attended yourself, though even in two generations they won’t teach to the skill you have mastered and I doubt that Occlumency has been added to the curriculum. I would guess that you must have taught yourself.” The man continued on, observing and pointing out what he could.

“And you can’t have graduated very long ago if at all, whereas I’ve worked at the ministry for years.”

“Not many, you barely look 17, if that.”

“I’m 20, thank you.” Hermione said stiffly. Looking young for her age and being mistaken for it annoyed her greatly. She did not like looking like she could still be in her 5th or 6th year at school.

“And yet, so much practiced skill for one so young. Definitely the brightest witch of your age, which might just be an accomplishment in two generations.” The man observed coldly, a sneer on his lips.

“It is. You are a careful observer, and quite egotistical, hurt that I don’t know who you are. It could be, perhaps, that I simply don’t recognize you so young. All of the Malfoys look very much the same, generation to generation… If I did know of you, I can’t say that I can place you at such a young age. Have you graduated? You still have not told me the date, though I can guess more closely as to the decade.” Hermione plastered on a fake smile.

“July 20th, 1945.”

“Well, at least World War II is just about over. What the Americans will do to end the war will cause health and environmental fallout for decades.” Hermione sighed.

“All muggles are barbaric. Your name?”

“One cannot judge the sins of the whole based on the sins of a few. I am Hermione.”

“Tom.”

“A first name will not help me to place you if you want to know if you have whatever celebrity that you clearly desire.”

“Riddle.”

“Well fuck.” Hermione blanched at the man taking tea with her, the one who would grow to become Voldemort. The man who robbed her best friend Harry Potter of his childhood and subjected the British wizarding world to two horrific wars.

“That is much more of the reaction I was hoping for.” Tom smirked at her.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up quite yet.” Hermione smoothed her features and stared at the young man that would one day cause so much death, destruction, and misery.

“Oh? And yet probably some fifty years in the future you know who I am and it was most unpleasant, given your reaction.”

“I don’t like bubotuber pus either, but that doesn’t mean your plans are fulfilled.”

“And what are my plans?” Tom put his tea cup down and leaned over the low table, towards Hermione.

“I should really be asking you that, because what ended up happening was likely not in your plans.”

“TELL ME.” Tom forced strong compulsion into his voice.

“No.” Hermione sighed and sipped her tea.

“Imperio!” Tom grabbed his wand and pointed it at Hermione, who pursed her lips before shrugging off the curse.

“No.” Hermione set her cup down.

“How are you doing this?” Despite his anger and annoyance, Tom was impressed. Her power intrigued him and he found himself wanting to possess it.

“Practice makes perfect.”

“And why would such a young girl need to practice throwing off an Unforgivable Curse? That is definitely not taught at Hogwarts.”

“You’d be surprised.” Hermione giggled, remembering her 4th year and the classes with the imposter teacher during which he indeed tried to teach their class how to throw off the Imperious Curse.

“You’re joking. Even if Dumbledore finally left the school all together, he would have had something to say.”

“The appointed teacher was not who he claimed to be. And as much as Professor Dumbledore wanted to believe, he was not aware of everything that went on in the school. As I’m sure you know.” It was Hermione’s turn to smirk. She found that she rather enjoyed trading barbs with the young Voldemort, as blasphemous as it seemed.

“That I do. I have grown tired of this chat, and I still have a private meeting to finish. I’ll have Abraxas install you in the guest room next to mine. I plan on keeping you close Hermione. Very close, until I get what I want.” Tom grinned slowly, sending shivers down her spine.

“I should be going to the Ministry to report the time mishap.” Hermione felt like an ice cube dropped into her stomach.

“And why would I send you there? The best they would do would be to extort information from you, obliviate you, and/or lock you up. No, I think I rather like your company. By far the most intelligent person I’ve had the pleasure to come across, despite the stupidity to deny me. You are so much more useful and safer near me, whole and unblemished.”

“I doubt I would be safe— you’ve already tried to kill me within the last half hour. What you call stupidity I would call bravery.” Hermione retorted.

“You must have been a Gryffindor. That would make sense. No, I am much better off keeping you close to me, Hermione. I have much to observe about you, and you will tell me what I want to know.” Tom stood up, sliding his wand into his sleeve. “If you cooperate, you will be treated with deference and dignity. Do not cross me, Hermione.”

“I guess I have no choice in some cooperation. But I will not give you information.” She stood, sighed resignedly.

“I will endeavor to make it to your advantage then, Hermione.” Tom bowed slightly, and showed Hermione to the door.

 

* * *

 

Abraxas Malfoy personally escorted Hermione to the guest room next to Tom Riddle’s in the manor house, pestering her with questions along the way. Given that she knew his family name upon sight as well as cussing him out as soon as she landed on the floor out of thin air, Abraxas deduced from the question about what date it was that she must have traveled back in time and knew his family in the future. He hoped she would divulge any information about his family’s future, but the most he got out was that he’d be succeeded by two ‘wankers’, evil factors negotiable. Abraxas got a bit of a thrill from hearing the girl cuss so coarsely, though did find the need to tell her that no women in his time ever cussed, especially within hearing of anyone, including house elves. He didn’t bother to ward the door and instead summoned a house elf to stand guard and stop the young woman from leaving the room. If she was as good against getting through wards as she claimed, elf magic should at least keep her in place.

Hermione curiously explored the decadent room she was put in, glad that she was at least not being held in the dungeons. She did not like remembering the horrific stories she’d been told by her friends who had been held in the Malfoy Manor dungeons during the war. She supposed, at least, that she was in a sense lucky that the young Voldemort seemed to have taken a liking to her, as much as it disgusted her. Hermione perused the small bookcase and found nothing remotely interesting, though was pleased that the small desk in the corner had parchment, quill and ink. She might as well continue her earlier arithimancy calculations in determining the possibility, probability and hopefully, eventual equations that could assist her in traveling forward in time. Enacting the magic necessary to move forward in time would be the next issue, once she could figure out exactly why she ended up specifically when and where she was, instead of lost within the endless loop of the time anomaly within the Department of Mysteries. She would need to, at some point, likely send a letter to the department head she would eventually serve under, with a time seal to open on the date that she left as to what happened to her, should she not be able to return. That way, at least her fate would be known. 

Perhaps, should she be stuck here, she could get a job within the Department of Mysteries, and then would have access to the time turners before the shattering of the cabinet during a battle in her 5th year, which caused the anomaly in the first place. Hermione felt that with a time turner, her chances of getting home would be greatly increased, though her current predicament of being an elegantly treated prisoner of a young Lord Voldemort was going to be difficult to get out of— she hoped that she still would be able to outwit him and slip from his grasp, though her previous experiences in the war were escaping from his followers, none of which were the sharpest quills in the set. His promise to keep her close bothered her on several levels, first being downright creepy in how he looked at her, and second making it all that much harder to escape. Focusing her mind on the arithimancy, Hermione put quill to parchment and started scratching out the equations that she’d been ruminating on earlier.

An indeterminate amount of time later (to Hermione, who was completely submerged in her calculations), there was a loud knock at the door and Abraxas, the grandfather of her coworker, entered with a house elf in a clean and tidy tea towel toga of a dress, with the Malfoy crest embroidered on the shoulder.

“Your presence is requested for cocktails and then dinner. Kat here will assist you with dressing before bringing you down to the drawing room.” Abraxas bowed slightly, before retreating to the hallway.

“Kat would be honored to help Miss! I is good with tailoring, Kat will make anything in the wardrobe fit Miss!” The over excited house elf quickly grabbed Hermione by the hand and dragged her over to a large walk in closet that had a large array of robes and dresses. 

Hermione figured she might as well live in the current moment, even if that moment was in 1945. Selecting a blood red gown much like the American Hollywood starlets would have worn, she let Kat then push her into a bathtub for a good wash. Hermione insisted on dealing with her hair herself, because she found that wandlessly and non-verbally, she could tame her hair much easier with intent and calm focus— so much so that she could cut hours of applying Sleekeazy potion out and have gentle waves with a pass of her hands over her hair. Once tamed, she then let Kat at it, who styled it with a few curls and sticking charms. Hermione decided only on an eyelash darkening/lengthening charm (who needed messy mascara when there was magic?) before slipping on the backless gown for Kat to tailor, making Hermione grin at what she hoped would be a knock out view— she figured if they were too distracted by looking at her, they wouldn’t be asking her questions that Hermione had no intention of answering. It was a cheap tactic that Hermione figured out after the war, in avoiding the media’s and anyone else’s questions.

Kat frowned heavily at the myriad of small scars across Hermione’s back and arms that she had gained while fighting in the war, topped by the purple curse scar she had sustained from Dolohov in her 5th year during the battle at the Ministry. Thankfully Kat said nothing about the strong glamour charm on Hermione’s left forearm that constantly concealed the nasty ‘Mudblood’ scar that she sustained while being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. With a click of her fingers, Hermione cast a glamour to hide the scars, making Kat happy to see the young Miss looking ‘as beautiful as any lady could be.’ After strapping on some heels, Hermione was informed that it was time for cocktails and was lead from what she began to think of as her gilded cage.

 

* * *

 

Hermione found herself being lead back to the drawing room she had been in before, with what she could only guess was the normal furniture in place— a few chairs and couches, an ornate low table, and several side tables. The semi-circle and tea service had vanished. The room went deathly silent when Hermione appeared at the door; all of the room’s occupants were male, and under the age of 25. Hermione supposed these were the current followers of Voldemort and possible new associates, a larger group than earlier. Now divested of her modest Ministry robes, Hermione took a moment to bask in the sheer awe that her transformation from befuddled to bewitching wrought on the wizards. Well, all except Tom Riddle, who immediately came up to her and bowed slightly, before taking her hand and kissing it.

“Hermione, how gracious of you to delight us with your presence. Even if your mouth is uncouth, at least you can pretend to look the part of a lady.” Tom kept a straight countenance, though Hermione could tell he was dying to give a very Slytherin smirk.

“I do not pretend, I simply am. I am a woman of many talents.” Hermione said archly. She allowed herself to be led over to where a house elf was making cocktails at a short table next to an impressive liquor cabinet.

“I’ll have a London Blitz” Hermione said, hoping that the cocktail with simple syrup, fire whiskey and pomegranate pips had been invented by current year. Thankfully, the house elf nodded and made the drink whereas Tom took his own turn to arch an eyebrow at her.

“That’s quite a drink to have, for a lady.”

“It has been quite a day. I was about to leave work when the accident happened. It is no crime to desire a cocktail during a cocktail hour, is it not?” Hermione replied sweetly. The house elf finished her drink, and she delicately picked up the martini glass. Tom cleared his throat loudly to catch the attention of the rest of the room and raised his glass.

“To new friends.”

“To new friends!” Everyone drank. Hermione was pleased with the fine quality of the fire whiskey, her cocktail being a wizarding take on the muggle Manhattan. The play on words always made it a favorite of Hermione’s, from the inference of the firebombing on Britain’s capital during World War II, to the three pomegranate pips that Persephone ate in the Underworld. While she’d always felt an affinity for the cocktail, in this den of snakes, she never felt it quite as much as now.

“You look quite lovely, Hermione. One would think you were born to this.” Tom smiled, clearly fishing for information.

“Thank you.” Hermione was not going to let anything slip.

“While I do enjoy the color of blood, I think this color would be more flattering.” Tom reached out and gently laid a finger on the strap of her dress, transforming it into the familiar dark green of Slytherin.

“Of course you would.” Hermione rolled her eyes, though she did find the color flattering on her skin tone. Most reds didn’t agree with her, though the darker spectrum of shades were lovely enough. Some Gryffindor she turned out to be! Tom attempted, mostly successfully, to monopolize her attention as much as Hermione attempted to disengage herself and talk to anyone else. Though most seemed rather afraid of her, Abraxas was happy to talk to both her and Tom, both young men continually attempting to get her to divulge anything of the future. Hermione was able to gather that they had just graduated from Hogwarts the previous month, and that Abraxas was headed into the Ministry, whereas Tom was going to spend his time researching and working at Borgin & Burke’s in Knockturn Alley.

“While research is a worthy endeavor, Tom, it is a shame to hear that you plan on working in  _ retail _ . You sound like you have so much more  _ potential _ than  _ that _ .” Hermione placed emphasis on words sure the goad Tom. Not that she should be doing it, but the temptation to possibly influence the timeline while drinking was too much for Hermione to ignore.

“And what would you have me do, time-traveler? What is more in line with my  _ potential _ ?” Tom certainly knew how to give as good as he got.

“Anything but  _ retail _ . The Ministry would be a good place to build influence, even as a junior employee.” Hermione said blithely.

“And how would you know that?” Tom snapped.

“If you observed my robes earlier, you would have seen the standard Ministry of Magic crest embroidered on them. As I noted earlier, I’ve worked there for years.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Years? But you look like you’re in 5th form!” Abraxas laughed.

“I’m 20. And certainly older than both of you. I am an Unspeakable.” Hermione said resolutely.

“Well that’s one thing that changes in the upcoming generations! A female Unspeakable!” Abraxas laughed and Tom smirked while Hermione glowered, turning red before attempting to walk off.

“Come now, it’s simply unheard of currently. I’m sure you are one of the best Unspeakables.” Tom grinned completely unconvincingly.

“Certainly better than his grandson!” Hermione jabbed a finger at Abraxas who sobered up his laughter quickly.

“Don’t tell me I have a moron for a grandson.” The already pale face of Abraxas paled even more.

“He’s smart, but lazy. Moron is up for debate. Besides, I got straight ‘O’s on my N.E.W.T.S. Smart or not, I was still far above him academically.” Hermione turned her nose in the air.

“In what, Household spells and Charms?” Tom sniggered.

“Household spells is not taught at Hogwarts in my time; but I’m not completely inept with cleaning spells. And yes, I got an O in Charms, as well as Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Potions, Ancient Runes, Herbology and Arithimancy.” Hermione said resolutely, enjoying the gobsmacked looks on both Tom and Abraxas’s faces.

“Brightest witch of your age?” Tom repeated in slight awe.

“One of the more moderate things thrown in my direction. I think the Prophet calling me the Brightest Witch of the Century was a bit much.” Hermione pretended to buff her nails. “Maybe someone after me will do better.”

“Better than 8 perfect N.E.W.T.s? They’d need extra time in the day to get to classes, let alone do the homework.” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“I did use a time-turner my 3rd year to take extra classes, but dropped Muggle Studies and Divination. Didn’t really need the former and Divination is absolute rubbish. Hoping patterns will emerge if you stare at something long enough? I’ll take Advanced Arithimancy any day, thank you.” Hermione commented.

“You seriously added hours to each day just to take classes and do homework?” Abraxas was aghast. “Were you a Ravenclaw?”

“Even better— Gryffindor.” Tom smirked while Hermione glared.

“I held my own in combat by the time I was 16; I lived up to the Gryffindor name, even if I had a mind fit for Ravenclaw.” Hermione huffed.

“Combat? Why were you even near combat at 16?” Tom’s eyes narrowed and Hermione realized her error.

“Dueling. I am an accomplished duelist.”

“A truth but not the truth. You weren’t lying when you said combat. So why were you in combat when you should have been studying during your 5th or 6th year?”

“I was studying my 5th and 6th years.” Hermione maintained.

“But you still faced combat.”

“Perhaps.”

“Evasion. Hermione, I will find out the truth. I do enjoy puzzles, and you will be the best yet. Most attractive as well.” Tom’s evil grin was accompanied by a wandering hand that Hermione batted away, while Abraxas just looked stunned at what was taking place. He could only guess that his lord really had meant it during their meeting when Tom said he would employ any means necessary to attain the information he desired from the girl. Abraxas would have never guessed at a seduction attempt— Tom, while at school with girls tripping over themselves for him, had never shown any interest in sex or romantic attachments, viewing it as a form of weakness and distraction that he did not want.

Dinner was announced and Hermione was guided in by Tom, who returned to acting like a perfect gentleman. He pulled out her chair, at the left hand of the head of the table, where he sat. Abraxas was across from her, at Tom’s right hand. The rest of the followers seemed to know their order, though the man sitting next to Hermione looked slightly annoyed. She guessed he had been displaced by her presence, and she could only hope that her presence would not be for long.

They were on the main course when Tom set down his cutlery at stared at her openly.

“Hermione, would you please remove your glamour charm? It is very distracting. I have tolerated it long enough.”

“Surely you are not asking—“

“Enough, it is concealment and not enhancement.”

“You could say it is both.” Hermione answered smoothly, sipping her drink.

“You will remove it, or I will.” Tom threatened. Hermione clicked her fingers, and her scars appeared, small burns from sparks, a few lines from curses that she only barely dodged the brunt of, and so forth. And the large purple scar on her shoulder dipping below her neckline from the curse she sustained her 5th year at the Ministry fight. There was a collective gasp around the room. Hermione rolled her eyes; such prudish ninnies. Tom didn’t seem pleased however.

“You left one.”

“What? Oh. That one.” Hermione angled her left forearm on the table towards him, and slowly moved her hand down it, watching Tom to see him read it, before covering it at his nod. He was amazed such a powerful witch was muggle born, but given his own circumstances with a muggle father and his considerable power that he constantly honed, Tom wasn’t as surprised as his more racist followers would believe. Her branding of ‘MUDBLOOD’ was best left under glamour while his followers were around.

“And how was that sustained? At 16?” Tom asked conversationally as he tucked back into his food and motioned for his followers to do the same.

“No, I was 18 and being tortured for information. A cursed blade was used to carve into me.” Hermione adopted the same light tone as she ate her green beans. She’d come to terms with her torture. She left it un-glamoured the first few years after the war, but these days she wished Bellatrix Lestrange had better lettering. 

“Even when I have information, I do not give it up.” Hermione met Tom’s gaze levelly. 

“May my men have your strength.” He smiled, which turned Hermione’s stomach. There was a look in his eye that she couldn’t discern and it discomforted her.

“And the rest of the scarring? Is that from combat?” Abraxas asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Though not the same fights or battle. This,” Hermione brushed the purple scar on her shoulder that traveled down beneath her dress, “was the only major wound I sustained, and that was in my 5th year.”

“You are certainly magnificent, Hermione.” Tom’s silky voice seemed to surround and caress her. Hermione closed her eyes and threw off whatever compulsion he was trying to weave.

“I would not go so far. I study hard, and I fought to protect my friends. We all did.”

“Children fighting in combat?”

“Slightly younger than you all are now. Would you have lead your followers into battle if your hand was forced?”

“It would not have been forced.”

“But if it was…”

“It was not.”

“Abraxas, hypothetically, if Tom’s life depended upon you fighting, would you?”

“Yes.” Abraxas did not hesitate in his answer. Tom glowered at him. Hermione only smiled at Tom before replacing the glamour to hide her scars.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was lead back to her room by a house elf while the rest of the group, all men, went to the Manor’s billiard room for smoking and drinking. Hermione settled herself at the desk and focused on the advanced arithmancy calculations she was working through. So far, it seemed that she was still in the infant stages of forward time travel, and even with the help of runic spells, arithmancy and a time turner, it was still likely going to be quite awhile before she would get anywhere near sending something as complex as a whole person forward in time—provided she had the resources of the Department of Mysteries at her disposal. Furthermore, Hermione calculated her presence; it was already altering the time stream she came from irreparably, and was going to diverge from it’s original course even more so every minute she stayed— exponentially, if her figures were correct. Hermione was attempting to figure out how she even was pulled from the time anomaly and was plugging in variables when the door to her room opened.

Tom Riddle was an impressive wizard and he knew it: tall, handsome, and charming when it suited him. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the mysterious witch that quite literally tumbled into his life that afternoon. She was scribbling away on parchment, having filled many sheets already it looked. At least several feet, he was surprised to note.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Hermione?”

“You didn’t bother to knock, and I’m a prisoner— I doubt either would necessitate my giving you an invitation to enter my gilded cage.” Hermione kept working on her calculation, adding in the variable of a portkey to the long string, including her personal history with the Manor that could be considered blood magic with a physical presence left behind by her cursed scar and the blood that couldn’t be removed from the floor… and if all points in time exist at once… 

“AHA! Well, that’s one small mystery solved. 10 points for Granger.” Hermione pumped a fist in the air before massaging her cramped quill-hand.

“Miss Granger is it? Hermione Granger. How lovely for you to give me your name.” Tom grinned slyly, testing out her name. He liked it.

“It doesn’t really matter so much anymore. Every minute I spend here is diverging the time stream from it’s original course exponentially. I’m still too far off from being able to move forward in time.” Hermione played off her mistake by focusing back on her calculations, and waving a hand at them.

“So what did you just solve then, that made you so pleased?” Tom strode over to the desk, and was surprised that all of the parchment was covered in complex calculations that seemed so far fetched that had he not been top of the class in Advanced Arithmancy when he graduated with his own perfect O score on his N.E.W.T, he would have believed it to be gibberish.

“Why I fell into the drawing room this afternoon.” Hermione showed him the specific parchment that held the calculations. Hermione tried not to giggle at Tom’s attempt to understand the elaborate calculations and variables— he was clearly only grasping at the surface of what she had accomplished. It would be nice for once, just once, someone of intelligence to understand her work. After she outpaced her professors her last year at Hogwarts, returning after the war to fill in any gaps, Hermione found herself bored, and with Headmistress McGonagall’s permission, spent minimal time actually in her classes and more time doing independent research and studying. It was actually for Defense Against the Dark Arts that she mastered wandless and nonverbal spell casting. The Auror team had desperately wanted her, but after fighting in the war, Hermione felt she’d had enough of fighting Dark Wizards. No, she wanted to do something revolutionary, which is how she found herself in the Department of Mysteries instead.

“If you’ll allow me, I will explain it.” Hermione gently took the parchment back from Tom, pushed the other sheafs away, and put it between them before conjuring up a chair. Tom looked at her hesitantly, nodded and sat.

“First, to understand any of the calculations I’ve been working on, you need to know that time is the only constant. All points in time exist simultaneously. That is why known anomalies are kept within the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries.”

“And would you count as an anomaly?” Tom eyed her.

“No, an anomaly is another constant, when there should be none. I can just as easily die now as I could in the future. That is why there is an overly simplified warning to anyone who seeks to time travel ‘Bad things happen to wizards that meddle with time.’ But the truth is, that since none of it is linear in existence as one would experience it in a lifetime, no one even knows if the past is meddled with or not. Or the future for that matter. Because everything is in a constant state of flux. Time is the only constant, so any other constants become anomalies.”

Tom took a moment to mull it over. “Understood. So, with the constant defined, where does your equation begin?” He peered at the parchment— there was no clear beginning or ending to the calculations. Hermione pointed at the center of the parchment.

“This is where I began in my own timeline. Two constants— time and the anomaly I was studying. I slipped and fell into the anomaly by accident.” Hermione pointed to the next step which was diagonally situated from the beginning.

“You don’t seem like the type to just slip and fall.”

“My coworker happens to be a platinum blonde with pointed features and gray eyes— he dropped candy on the floor when he was bothering me while I was pacing and thinking. There is no real mystery as to why I had choice words for a Malfoy when I arrived on the floor.” Hermione grimaced, to which Tom laughed.

“Like Grandfather like grandson? Abraxas has a notorious sweet tooth.”

“I blame Dumbledore for introducing Malfoy to Lemon Drops.” Hermione scoffed, and Tom narrowed his eyes at the mention of his former Transfiguration professor’s name.

“Anyways, Malfoys and their fondness for sweets aside, falling into the anomaly became the second constant which threw me into instability between all points in time. Now, I got this,” Hermione unglamoured the ‘Mudblood’ scar on her forearm, “while being tortured during a war as I said earlier. Given the binding of the curse to my flesh and the amount of blood shed, it could be considered an anchoring blood magic. My torture had been carried out in the drawing room of this manor.” Hermione pointed to the calculations that were following a spiral out from the center. 

“Well, the hate of an innocent carpet and comment on removing blood from it makes more sense now.”

“I had nightmares about that carpet for a year. There is nothing innocent about it!” Hermione hissed, and Tom covered his smirk.

“Go on. So there’s blood magic anchoring you to the Manor’s drawing room, but since all points in time exist at once, it didn’t matter that it hadn’t happened yet because it both had and had not.” Tom urged Hermione on.

“Exactly. So with the addition of an unused portkey to the exact room in question and the anchoring blood magic to the drawing room, the portkey pulled me out of the time anomaly.”

“Unused? But Thoros—“

“Apparently missed his portkey because otherwise I wouldn’t have arrived on it, as it would have been occupied. And I’m guessing this was the first time you attempted to use portkeys for your followers to meet you, and now probably the last.”

“It was.”

“So, following the spiral, you can see exactly how I departed from the Department of Mysteries and ended up on the floor of the drawing room this afternoon.” Hermione gloated.

“Impressive. Incredibly impressive. You are quite intriguing, Miss Granger.” Tom surveyed the witch, his eyes straying on the ‘Mudblood’ scar on her arm. Sensing more questions, Hermione beat him to the punch, wanting to retain control of the conversation.

“I only glamour it these days because the lettering is so hideous. If she hadn’t been so insane, I would have thought she purposefully made it so messy.” Hermione supplied.

“You don’t mind being branded as a ‘Mudblood’?” Tom asked curiously. He was embarrassed to be sullied so much as to have a muggle father. He hated his upbringing at an orphanage because his unworthy father refused to claim responsibility. He hated the muggles that made him so miserable. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would be okay being literally branded with the slur. Despite technically being a half-blood himself, when he was younger he had desperately feared being called Mudblood because of his upbringing. It happened only once, and that was when he began more earnestly his quest for power and using it to extend influence.

“I was the only person extensively tortured by that woman who did not break, was not killed, and kept my mental faculties intact. You could even say I’ve been proud of it. Purebloods stood no better chance than anyone else under her wand, and yet I was the one who came out victorious. This?” Hermione lifted her arm, “is proof of that. I just hate the messiness of it these days. Though in this house with your followers… it is probably best I keep it covered. Much like you do with your own heritage.” Hermione’s evil smirk was worthy of Slytherin himself, Tom thought.

“My heritage? And what do you know about that?” Tom demanded, standing abruptly.

“Everything. I know a lot about you; things that were never public knowledge.”

“Tell me.”

“No. I don’t think I will. I’ve shared enough for tonight, and I doubt you’ll make it anywhere through the rest of my calculations without my help to guide you.” Hermione smiled sweetly, remaining seated at the desk.

“We could make a deal.”

“I doubt it; you have nothing I want. Now if you would kindly excuse yourself from my room, I would like to sleep. I had an extra four hours tacked onto my day. I really am quite exhausted.” Hermione shrugged.

“I will talk to you in the morning Miss Granger. Think of your terms for a deal. I’m sure we can find some sort of agreement.” Tom bowed neatly, and showed himself out of the room. Outside the room, he confirmed with the house elf that Hermione would not be allowed to leave her rooms, and no one else was to disturb her. Tom went to his own room next door, his thoughts swirling about a victorious mudblood and what it truly could mean when the only other person that was on par with his level of power also had muggle blood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Around 9am Hermione was collected from her room by Tom and brought to breakfast. It was just herself, Tom and Abraxas this morning. Hermione wondered briefly where Abraxas’s parents were.

“Just us for breakfast. My parents have been in France the last two weeks. I declined. The continent just doesn’t have the appeal that it did in my youth.” Abraxas said, noticing Hermione’s glance around the breakfast room.

“France is quite resilient, and I’m sure you will soon find new charms to enjoy. I always enjoyed my trips there with my parents…” Hermione closed her eyes briefly and tried to dispel the sadness that overtook her when it came to her parents. She found them after the war, but was never able to lift the memory charm she placed on them. Their minds were so thoroughly altered that there was truly no going back.

“I’m sure, Miss Granger, if it is possible you will find a way back to your parents. Do not fret.” Tom said in his velvety voice, with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Unfortunately, I will never truly be united with my parents again, even if I were to calculate a way back.” Hermione answered.

“And, as it is, I’m essentially stuck here in an exponentially diverging timeline from the one that I lived. Even if I return to the future, the changes will be such that I may lose myself entirely in the process as I assimilate in.” Hermione sipped her tea calmly, having come to the conclusion and reconciled with it the night before.

“Have you thought about my offer then, Miss Granger? It sounds like you will need a place in this world.” Tom’s eyes started to light up, matching his smile now.

“You have nothing I desire.” Hermione maintained. She was quite sure that turning herself over to the ministry would be preferable.

“I can offer you a place at my side. I could use you, Miss Granger. Your talents were wasted at the Ministry.” Tom continued, Abraxas looking on, amazed at the witch who was able to resist Tom Riddle as none had before. 

“By your side is the absolute last place I want to be. I didn’t fight in a war to be someone else’s pawn.” Hermione sniffed.

“From what I gathered, you were always someone’s pawn to play. You fought for someone else to stay alive.” Tom’s grin turned sly.

“It could have been a boyfriend.”

“Not on your comparison in asking Abraxas if he’d fight to save my life. It sounded as if it was a leader you were fighting for.” Tom motioned to his friend.

“My best friend.”

“But still a leader” Tom maintained.

“I am not interested in fighting. I have done enough of it. My work as an Unspeakable was to be revolutionary. Of course my best research is now 35 years before I am even born.” Hermione sighed.

“I’m not interested in combat— I’m interested in knowledge and power. Making children fight adult’s battles is abhorrent, as is widespread magical bloodshed.” Tom spat vehemently. Hermione eyed him curiously. What would have happened between now and when he fully became Voldemort that he would lose this ideal?

“Is that so?” Hermione was not sure exactly what to say.

“The Knights of Walpurgis was formed to look into areas of magic that have been forbidden by those too weak-minded to know there is no ‘good’ or ‘evil’, just intent” Abraxas supplied.

“Is that what you call yourselves?” Hermione smiled blandly, glad that the racism didn’t seem to be a major foothold in the group for now, at least.

“Yes. And that is why my research is so important, as I assist others in their own quest to master all forms of magic.” Tom replied, eyeing Hermione cooly.

“I see. So what exactly is your intent in using Unforgivable Curses? Only yesterday you tried to have me killed then control my mind.”

“Simply maintaining power and protecting it.”

“At any cost?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Did you kill anyone during your war, Miss Granger?” Tom asked, changing tactics. He enjoyed the discomfort Hermione displayed.

“It is likely. I did not cast the Killing Curse, but I defended my life, and my peers. There are no winners in war, only loss.” Hermione set down her teacup, taking a steadying breath.

“One could say a clean death is a mercy, particularly in battle, than a slow death by means of curses or jinxes.”

“It could. But it was not used as such during this war. The opposing side did not kill cleanly— they killed with the intent to derive enjoyment from the suffering and torture of their victims. Dark magic was used, with only the intent to prolong suffering.” Hermione unconsciously touched her shoulder where the purple curse scar had been seen the night before.

“That is terrible.” Abraxas responded, looking horrified. Tom just looked curious.

“Tell me Miss Granger, who was this war fought against?” Tom asked silkily. “You cannot go back, and the timeline is changing. Surely you can tell me?”

“I will consider it. If I may go back to my room now…” Hermione stood, and a house elf appeared to lead her away.

 

* * *

It wasn’t until after dinner, when Tom sought out Hermione in her rooms to talk again.

“My patience is growing thin, Miss Granger. You would find it in your best interest to make a deal with me. I can protect you, in exchange for information.” Tom began before Hermione cut him off.

“Tell me, Tom, how many horcruxes have you made?” Hermione asked. The reaction was immediate. Tom’s anger rushed to the surface and the air around him sparked dangerously with raw magic.

“How do you know about it?” He asked dangerously.

“I told you last night, I know a lot of things that were never public knowledge.” Hermione huffed.

“Because you were an Unspeakable?”

“No.” Hermione was unwilling to elaborate, it was plain. Tom decided that perhaps if he plied her with some information, he would in turn get what he wanted to know in return.

“One. I plan to make the second next week.”

“Don’t”

“Why?” Tom sneered at her. Hermione simply picked up her quill and a fresh sheet of parchment. She drew a circle with a line down the middle, then in one half, she drew a line through half of that. She colored in one quarter.

“This is what is in the diary, Tom. Half of your soul. Each time you split your soul, it goes down by half, but only half of what is left. This—“ Hermione tapped the colored in quarter “is what you will have left after your second horcrux. By the time you reach seven, you won’t feel anything at all. What you said earlier about not wanting to fight or have children fighting will mean absolutely nothing when you have 1/128th of your soul left after seven horcruxes. You will not even feel when your horcruxes die, you will have so little soul left. You won’t even look human. I couldn’t recognize you because you haven’t become the monster yet.”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s math, Tom. Numbers don’t lie; they can only be interpreted.” Hermione wrote out the fractions for him if he split by halves down to 7: 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16, 1/32, 1/64, 1/128.

“Since you’re stuck here, you’re what, trying to convince me to reform?” Tom used anger to mask his fear of the fractions and what this brilliant but bewildering witch was saying.

“Just explaining what apparently didn’t occur to you. There are much worse things that death. And I think 1/128th of a soul is that. You sought power but left yourself with no control to wield it, or even recognize it properly.” Hermione tried to keep her voice neutral.

“Show me the last memory you have of me. Make me believe you.” How could he have missed this in all of his planning? She even knew what vessel his horcrux was in, and that he planned on 7… He needed to know, and this would be an answer she couldn’t refuse him.

“I will allow that, but only that.” Hermione closed her eyes and summoned up her memories of the final battle, near the end where everyone had stopped to watch Harry duel Voldemort. Keeping that memory in the front of her mind, she repressed the others and opened her eyes.

“Ready?”

Tom nodded gravely in reply, making eye contact and touching her cheek. Hermione almost jumped away but stopped herself. The physical contact would make a connection easier to form, allowing for a gentle entrance into her memory. To an outsider, it would have looked like young lovers gazing into each other’s eyes, but both were immersed in Hermione’s memory of the end of the Battle of Hogwarts— her last memory of Lord Voldemort as he dueled and died. Tom withdrew gently, dropped his hand from her cheek and closed his eyes. Hermione watched him attempt to process what he saw: the unaltered, very real memory of his death and the snake-like monster he became. And the child soldiers fighting against him, as well as the ones conscripted by their parents to fight for him. And the many dead, young and old, all around. Magical blood everywhere. The house elves protecting the castle. Deadly creatures abound. The gates of Hell that he personally opened up at Hogwarts, the only place he’d ever felt truly at home.

Tom sucked in a ragged breath.

“I— that was not the plan. That was not anywhere in the plan.”

“What wasn’t? Dying?”

“Well that too. The… horror you lived through. I want power, yes, but for the greater good. The horcruxes were meant to augment my power as well as provide insurance against death. Obviously that didn’t work. I died. You helped kill me.”

“I helped kill a monster that was ravaging Britain with the Second Wizarding War. You’re not him yet.”

“Second? There was a first?”

“Yes, it ended about 20 years prior to the battle you saw. You launched a war that lasted for several years. Everywhere everyone was too scared to speak the name of Lord Voldemort. It ended when you attempted to kill my best friend, after murdering his parents— he was just one year old. All because of a half heard prophecy you got from an eavesdropping follower. You should note, that prophecies only come true if you believe in and act upon them. That’s when you really became the monster. The last remnants of your soul were ripped from your body and you fled. It was a decade before a wizard stumbled across your shade and you possessed him. And then, for the next 7 years, you kept trying to kill my best friend and at times, myself as well.” 

“I don’t know how you’re able to relate any of this calmly to me. Why aren’t you trying to kill me now?” Tom asked.

“Because you’re just 18. It’s still decades off. You are not that monster.” Hermione cocked her head to the side. “I am not your judge and jury. I have no say in if you should live or die. I’m not Fate or God. In my past, you died. Your own hand forced it, and if you continue the same path then you will force your own death again. But I will not kill you because of something you have not done yet— you are not Voldemort, and the monster I helped kill has little resemblance to you. Even me just being here is irreparably altering the timeline I lived. No, I will not condemn you for what you have not done and now may not do. I do feel you are misguided and that you’ve done things that are illegal and morally wrong that I vehemently disagree with, but I cannot say that I’ve always done things legally or morally correct.” Logic always helped Hermione face problems. And she’d been thinking about this current issue since she arrived.

“So what, Miss Granger, is your suggestion? Abandon everything I’ve worked for?” Tom now fought to keep his own voice neutral. She wasn’t going to kill him, even after everything she lived through. He found that remarkable, possibly stupid, probably brave… and very Gryffindor.

“Personally, I’d recommend changing your plans.” Hermione answered him.

“What?”

“You heard me. Change your plans. Make concrete goals and achieve them. If you want power, know what you will do with it. How you will wield it.” Hermione deadpanned.

Tom closed his eyes. He felt like he was that lost little boy in the orphanage again. The rage he always felt at being looked down on for having to put in the damned place, that he was only a half blood; half of his blood was from that dirty muggle father that abandoned his mother when she was pregnant and left him to be raised at the flithy orphanage. The rage that he had influence only because he was strong enough to grab power and use it.

“It’s okay to be angry. Anger is power, it’s fuel— but it is how you use it that matters.” Hermione placed a hand over Tom’s tightly balled fist on the table. He flinched at the contact. No one ever touched him; he always avoided touching others but never allowed anyone to touch him if he could help it.

“W-what?”

“I was very angry during the war. It kept myself and my friends alive. And afterwards, my anger drove me to help others. Anger is potent, and can be used so many ways. Not just to hurt and be hurt.”

“I see. Goodnight, Miss Granger.” Tom stood and exited the room abruptly. 

Hermione flopped on the bed, wondering if she did the right thing in telling him. The poor boy was only 18… but that poor boy was also a murderer who released a basilisk in a castle of school children, killing one and creating a horcrux with it. He was planning on murdering his muggle father that abandoned his mother as well as his muggle grandparents, before framing his maternal uncle. But even half a soul, Hermione mused, could feel. And she could tell he was quite conflicted. She was not sure if it would be a strong enough turning point, but she could do some arithmancy calculations to see the probability of the original timeline as an outcome after their conversation this evening. Hermione got up and went to the desk, pulling a clean sheet of parchment towards her.

 

* * *

“Abraxas, what do you think of her?” Tom swirled the fire whiskey in his glass, sitting with his most loyal follower and right hand man in the library.

“Hermione, my lord? Well, she’s a bit… odd… but that could be just the difference from her own time period. She’s brilliant and strong. To speak frankly, I’m rather in awe of her. I never thought such a witch existed.” Abraxas sipped at his own drink, staring into the fireplace, watching the flames dance.

“Do you think she’s trustworthy?”

“My lord? But you can tell if she’s lying or not—“

“We are moving past whether or not she’s lying, but if she is still of value. I learned some rather… disturbing things… from her in regards to my future that lay in her past. My carefully laid plans go astray, so far that I might as well become the devil himself.” Tom contemplated his companion’s expression.

“The devil?”

“Muggle mythology. Quintessential evil.”

“Ah. Well, you are the one who taught us there is no good or evil, just power and those too weak to seek it.” Abraxas mused.

“The war she fought was against me. The atrocities she mentioned were committed by what becomes of the Knights.”

“Oh.”

“With all the power gained, some of the experimental magic I used—or will use— causes eventual weakness of my mind and taints my selection of followers. I want to avoid that. I need more strength, and better foresight if we are to continue quest for  knowledge without limits, for power. I need to know if I can trust her.” Tom sounded absolutely dejected.

“She’s quite brilliant, my lord. If anything, she would be a great asset, especially in reformulating plans. I cannot see how she would not be interested in the seeking of knowledge. She’s constantly working on her calculations. Her potential is seemingly limitless.”

“Aside from the limit of being a Gryffindor.” Tom snorted.

“Maybe that is what was missing— a differing view. To be frank, my lord, I’ve never seen anyone talk to you the way she does and not live to regret it.”

“She is fascinating, and her wit amuses me. I feel that I need her, I want to possess her brilliance, and I cannot go about it the way I have in the past.” Tom sipped his drink thoughtfully.

“I think you already know the answer you seek then, my lord.” Abraxas

“Are we friends, Abraxas?”

“My lord? Well, yes, I would like to think so.” Abraxas seemed taken aback by the question.

“Let’s dispense with the ‘my lord’. I believe I have a witch to win over, and new plans to formulate. I’ve seen what Lord Voldemort becomes, and I believe Hermione when she says I am not him, not yet. I need a new approach.” Tom gave a brief smile to Abraxas, who lifted his glass cheerily.

“Well, Tom, I think you’re right. In that case, we should secure her within our circle. Keep her close.”

“Perhaps, then, you have just gained a long lost relative— maybe the daughter of a cousin disowned for marrying a muggle. But with Grindelwald’s fall and the death of her parents, wouldn’t it be prudent to mend bridges and take the poor dear in?” Tom smirked.

“Ah yes, my lost cousin. I do believe it is time the girl be found.” Abraxas grinned.

 

* * *

 

It was two days before Tom sought out Hermione again to speak. She kept to her gilded cage, writing and calculating, and taking meals by herself. She was a little surprised when mid-morning on the third day, her door opened and Tom came in.

“Here are your documents, giving you a place in this time. I do hope you speak French, as you’re officially a citizen of France who hid in Britain during the war after your family was killed, fighting your way out from Grindelwald as he swept the continent. Since you were in hiding, you did not attend Hogwarts but studied prodigiously on your own. After a tearful reunion tomorrow at the Ministry with your long lost cousins, The Malfoys, where they’ll register you as a British citizen, we can see about a date when you can sit N.E.W.T.s should you desire to seek employment befitting your intelligence. You are now a half-blood, which will ensure better safety for you. These are still tenuous times, you see.” Tom dropped a sheaf of papers on the desk. Hermione was startled to see that there was a birth certificate, O.W.L scores done by post, immigration papers… Everything she would need to start a life. Hermione’s mouth fell open, and it felt like her mind went from slow motion to fast forward.

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” She threw her arms around Tom and hugged him. Tom stiffened before relaxing slightly. He noticed that she smelled quite nice and the curls that tickled his face were much softer than he would have anticipated. Hermione drew back abruptly after a moment.

“I’m sorry— I—“ Hermione was flustered because she realized this sort of thanks was reserved for her close friends, and Tom was not a close friend, or even a friend at all. He was her jailer and now only possibly the future Lord Voldemort, according to her calculations. She guessed that maybe she might have started suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, before she began wondering if Stockholm Syndrome was even discovered yet in 1945.

“You’re welcome Hermione. I am a man of my word— you gave me information, and I provided what you need to start over. I would prefer if you’d stay with me, help me avert what you experienced… but I would understand if you simply wanted a clean slate.” Tom gave her a cool smile.

“I— Well, I don’t know. What would it entail?” Hermione chewed her bottom lip nervously. Tom’s face brightened a bit.

“Guidance mostly. Meetings. Research. Teaching even, if you want to share your knowledge. Abraxas has said you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like. I’ll be here through the summer at least. You’ll meet his parents tomorrow at the Ministry.”

“Oh. Well, I hope they like me.” Hermione’s lip chewing became more pronounced. Tom was torn between being completely irritated by it, and endeared. Hermione unconsciously rubbed her forearm.

“I think I know the counter curse for that. I was researching yesterday while waiting for your paperwork to be finished… I have a theory for removing it.” Tom motioned to her arm.

“I— I think it is probably for the best. I’m going to be stuck here for a few years at least, even if I had every resource available to me. And if I’m going to be the half blood, distant relation of the Malfoys… then I should have it removed.” Hermione traced the letters out of habit.

“It will hurt, just so you know. I will have to draw the curse out, like venom from a wound.” Tom told her.

“I’m sure I can handle it.” Hermione chuckled. Tom nodded.

“Now, then?” Tom asked, motioning to her bed.

“Might as well.” Hermione sighed, sitting down.

“Pain relief for after we’re done. In case you need it.” Tom placed a small vial on the side table. He drew out his wand, sitting down next to Hermione, pulling her arm into his lap. He placed the tip of his wand at the letter ‘M’

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Hermione closed her eyes and started to focus on her breathing. The pain started immediately, hot white and burning, seething as it pulled. Tom was impressed she didn’t cry out, but instead maintained her breathing, as he slowly drew the dark curse out of her arm, pulling up each part of the scar, watching it disappear into black smoke after it left her body. The process took under 10 minutes.

“Done. You’re remarkable, Hermione.”

“Ugh, just hand over that potion, will you?” Hermione could barely keep the quaver from her voice; she was a little faint and sweaty. Tom gave her the vial.

“Thanks. And really, thank you for everything. I guess if you need guidance, I’m your gal.” Hermione threw back the potion before dropping back onto the bed. Tom looked at her oddly, before smiling hesitantly.

“I rather like the sound of that. Rest now, we can discuss details later.” Impulsively, Tom swept a few curls off of Hermione’s damp face before taking his leave.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was placing the finishing touches on the letters she was writing. One was to her department head in the year 2000, along with some of her arithmancy calculations on how she escaped the time anomaly and ended up in 1945 in Malfoy Manor. She noted that she would be continuing her endeavors to finish her research on moving forward in time, but that she should be classified as ‘Missing In Action’ until further notice. Her second letter was to be enclosed with the first, and was addressed with a blood ward seal that could only be broken by a drop of blood, to Draco Malfoy. Included with a charmed letter yelling at him (similar to a Howler but non combustible nor time sensitive), was instructions for the enchanted parchment that she would be able to communicate with him across the years, if her complex runes and arithmancy worked in the future as well as the side by side tests worked. 

Once she got the time seal spell set, all she would have to do is post the letter addressed to the department head at the Department of Mysteries noting that everything was locked with a time seal that would open on the corresponding date in the year 2000. Knowing the type of people that worked at the Department of Mysteries, the letter would definitely be screened, and kept under observation until the appropriate date. Given Hermione’s knowledge of all points in time existing at once, she should be in touch with Draco by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, provided her enchanted parchment worked. She felt that having a ‘real time’ update from the year 2000 on whatever changes were happening to the timeline as it diverged would be crucial for research purposes, but also seeing if her advice and guidance was helping Tom as he’d asked. He seemed incredibly impressed when she showed him the enchanted parchment, and explained what the purpose of it was to be— and glad that there wouldn’t be much the Department of Mysteries could do so far in the future without highly probable risk of losing another employee. 

Hermione felt a bit awkward about money, though she did have some pocket change in her Ministry robes that she arrived in. Both Tom and Abraxas insisted that she not worry about such things, and Tom suggested again that Hermione could re-take her N.E.W.T.s if she wanted to pursue a career. Again the offer to stay with Abraxas for the time being was encouraged, and Tom mentioned he too was staying until he was able to set up on his own. He was also pleased to note that he had an interview at the Ministry during their visit tomorrow, Abraxas paving smooth a path with his family name for Tom in the Office of International Magical Co-operation. Hermione felt pleasantly surprised and secretly quite pleased that Tom had already began implementing her advice.

 

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy had begun dreading going to work. He had rather enjoyed working in the Department of Mysteries, but after Hermione Granger, War Heroine, Brightest Witch of Her Age, and Brains Behind the Golden Trio went missing in the Department a few days ago, everything had fallen to shit. He was the last to have seen her, so he was brought in for questioning by everyone from his department head, to Harry Potter and some other Auror (he barely escaped with minimal bruising from that ‘interview’), to the Minister of Magic himself. Even submitting his memory of their last encounter before he left the ministry that fateful day did little to relieve the suspicion around him. There was a knock on his office door, and the Department Head, Elodie Smith, came in.

“A letter we have been monitoring since it arrived in 1945 has unsealed itself today. One part is addressed specifically to me, the other, to you. Yours has a blood ward seal on it, and my letter instructs me to leave you alone with it. It’s from Miss Granger.” Smith stated flatly.

“What? It’s from Granger? 1945? How?” Draco snatched the proffered letter and examined it.

“She requested I list her missing in action, and that I transfer you to the Time Room. You’ll be taking over her post and completing work in her stead.” Smith continued, eyes narrowing.

“M-missing in action?” Draco looked up, apprehensively.

“Yes. It seems she was pulled out of the time anomaly thanks to a curse scar from the war that could be construed as blood magic, and an unused portkey. She even sent me a bloody copy of her arithmancy calculations.” Smith rolled her eyes.

“That sounds like Granger all right. Well, I’ll get right to it.” Draco nodded, and Smith left, casting one last glance at him. Draco waited a moment for his boss to leave, before closing his office door firmly and locking it. He looked back at the letter. He sat at his desk, drew out a letter opener, and used the tip to draw a drop of blood from his finger. He let it fall onto the seal— a Malfoy crest he noted in surprise— which broke apart instantly. He cleaned up his finger and took out a sheaf of parchments. The first was charmed and as soon as he touched it, the parchment began screaming at him.

“MALFOY YOU WANKER! IT’S YOUR DAMN OBSESSION WITH MUGGLE CANDY THAT GOT ME INTO THIS MESS, SO YOU BEST GET ME OUT OF IT! LET ME TELL YOU, FALLING INTO THAT STUPID CABINET ONLY TO LAND ON YOUR DAMN DRAWING ROOM FLOOR FIFTY FIVE YEARS IN THE PAST WAS A FUCKING SHIT SHOW! I’M STUCK IN NINETEEN FOURTY FIVE AND IT’S YOUR DAMN FAULT! Speaking of which, your grandfather Abraxas is such a dear and has been nothing but kind to me. He’s just eighteen but still wants to know everything about you, but I’ve only told him you’re a wanker BECAUSE YOU ARE. I LANDED IN THE MIDDLE OF A FUCKING KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS MEETING. YOU KNOW WHO THEY WERE? THE GODDAMN DEATH EATERS BEFORE THEY BECAME THE DEATH EATERS!” Here, Hermione’s voice took a deep breath.

“Tom fucking Riddle a.k.a. Lord Voldie-to-be and your grandfather are looking after me, in their very Slytherin way, plying me for information at every moment. I’m safe, but I’m going to need your help on a few points. One is forward time travel. I’m going to need to experiment and you will need to report back to me. I have the instructions written on the next sheet. Two, I’ve calculated my presence here is exponentially diverting the timeline from it’s original course. Don’t use that blank expression, apply yourself and you’ll understand. I’ve made everything practically stupid proof, and you know you can keep up if you bother trying. You’ll be doing my job from now on, though you better give me credit for MY work. Everything I send you will be cursed against cheating. Since I’m not there personally to remove the curse, you best not do it unless you want to look like Marietta Edgecomb in 5th year.” Draco gulped.

“Anyways, go check the archives for a Hermione Malfoy Granger who emigrated to London on July 25th, 1945. The file should have the documents Tom and Abraxas put together for me, which will help get me listed as missing in action during DOM business on your end. I need you to keep me informed of the present. Ta!” The charm ended, Hermione’s voice ringing in Draco’s ears. Today, he could tell, had just gone from not great to pretty fucking bad. He looked at the other parchments. A few sheets were labeled as to what each complex arthimancy equation represented. He was surprised he could follow along, given that he knew Granger had gone well beyond anything covered in N.E.W.T level and was probably revolutionizing the subject entirely. He studied the instructions at the head of an otherwise blank sheet of parchment, though he noted the glimmer of invisible enchantments inscribed on the back.

 

_ “Write me here any notes, questions or concerns. I should be able to answer with the extra layers of runes and equations laid into this paper. Do not let this parchment out of your sight or off of your person, despite the privacy enchantments. Say hello so I know that you received it. ~Hermione” _

 

‘Bloody Hell. That’s her handwriting.’ Draco thought as he picked up his quill.

 

_ “Hello, Hermione. Sorry about the Lemon Drops, I honestly just wanted to offer you one since I know you like them.” _

 

About a minute later, his writing vanished as a reply was appearing in Hermione’s writing.

 

“ _ You’re still a bloody wanker, Malfoy. At least your grandfather is a gentleman _ .”

_ “I hope he praises your genius, as I’m amazed this stupid parchment works. Is that really you, Granger?” _

_ “Yes, it is really me. My patronus is an otter and I broke your nose in 3rd year. Oh, and you admitted you liked my hair the last time we had drinks and you got totally pissed.” _

_ “Damn, it is you. Please tell my grandfather that I love him, and miss him. I can’t believe you’re there with him.” _

_ “Your father isn’t even a twinkle in his eye yet, but I will relay the sentiments. I’m sure he’ll be pleased. He’s very excited about the prospect of having a grandchild even though he’s not even married yet. He and Tom just graduated Hogwarts. They’re 18! I’m older than them!” _

_ “And you still look like a silly 5th year.” _

_ “Shut up. Did you check the archives yet? We went to the ministry earlier— met your great grandparents as well. I’ve been essentially adopted in.” _

_ “The greatest muggleborn of all time now an honorary Malfoy? My father would be spitting if he knew.” _

_ “Probably not, as he’ll grow up knowing me unless you help to get me back. Though I think Tom’s not keen on me returning. The timelines are diverging exponentially— didn’t you read anything I sent you?” _

_ “I glanced at it.” _

_ “Well really look it over. Every minute I’m here things are changing from what happened to us, literally exponentially. I sent a copy of my arithmancy equation proving it. You do know what exponentially means, right?” _

_ “Yes, Granger, I do.” _

_ “So I’m going to need to chat with you every day to see what’s changed from the past I remember. And, I want to have my best research published. You’re going to help me.” _

_ “You can’t do that yourself?” _

_ “Not if I want to remain a free citizen and not a potential artifact in the Department.” _

_ “I can see the lack of appeal for that. I bet the social life sucks, with me not there to entertain you for another 50+ years.” _

_ “Can you give your ego a rest for a little while? I’m sharing my best work with you, and I want you to publish it. I’m even willing to share credit.” _

_ “My ego never rests, you know that Granger. Smith already approved my transfer on your order over to the Time Room. Should I take over your office too?” _

_ “My notes may help you, and I’ll probably need you to transcribe information I need from them. Eventually, we’ll need to start Operation Get Me The Fuck Home. Your family has been ridiculously hospitable, but I’m starting to think I’m suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.” _

_ “What the fuck is that?” _

_ “Look it up, I’m not a bloody encyclopedia.” _

_ “I’ve missed you Granger.” _

_ “Surprisingly I’ve missed you too, Malfoy. I have to be so… proper now. Your grandfather keeps telling me not to cuss.” _

 

Draco laughed out loud reading this.

 

_ “Thats precious, Granger. I think you just made my week. I’ll get on looking up those documents and moving into your office. Just one thing, Granger. What’s HE like? You know, at 18?” _

_ “Bloody gorgeous, charming when he wants to be, and cocky as hell.” _

_ “So like me?” _

_ “You don’t have a body count.” _

_ “Ah. Well, not everyone can be perfect like me.” _

_ “Keep telling yourself that. But Tom’s actually nice when he is just himself. He’s interviewing at the Ministry now. Actually took my advice, instead of going to work at Borgin & Burke’s.” _

_ “First person ever to do so!” _

_ “Shut up Malfoy. You have work to do. And I am being treated to lunch by my long lost cousins. Ta!” _

 

Draco chuckled and rolled up the parchment, before tucking it in his robes. He conjured a box, used a spell to neatly pack his personal effects and research in it, and levitated it down the hall to Hermione’s office. The door was already open, and the department head was waiting for him.

“You’re assigned, as Miss Granger requested, to fill her role. She noted that you would need access to her office and notes. I don’t know why she’s trusting you with this, but don’t muck it up, Malfoy.” Smith watched Draco set the box down on his new desk.

“Don’t plan on it ma’am. I’m sure we’ll all figure out soon why she chose me to assist her. I won’t let her down.” Draco straightened up and looked his department head in the eye. She held his gaze for a moment.

“Better not. Whatever you need to get her back, it’s yours. Don’t abuse the privilege or I’ll push you into the anomaly myself.” Smith nodded and was out of the door. Draco rolled his eyes before following her out, locking the door behind him. He had to check the archives for Hermione Malfoy Granger, his long lost ‘cousin.’

 

* * *

 

Hermione was easily bored, and the N.E.W.T.s in 1945 weren’t quite at the caliber that she remembered from when she took them. She had initially fretted for a moment for not giving herself more than a couple days before sitting them, but once she started the written sections, she was occupied with making sure her answers were smart and correct to the timeline. She’d feel terrible if she took someone’s life’s work or achievement from them like Gilderoy Lockhart. Her practicals were much more entertaining, as she remembered some of the witches and wizards conducting the practicums. They were all much younger now, obviously, but Hermione surmised the post must offer some pretty good job security.

Hermione did some of her N.E.W.T. practicals wandless, and the more delicate ones others with her wand, all of which impressed the test administrators greatly. She was asked to go above and beyond the testing by some, which she complied to a degree. One of the administrators she didn’t recognize had worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and tried to recruit her on the spot during her Defense Against The Dark Arts test despite the lack of females in the DMLE. 

“Sir, that is most kind of you, but I doubt my cousins the Malfoys would be at peace knowing I was in any active role. I’m much more suited to study.” Hermione demurred, having practiced 1940’s Pureblood mannerisms with a house elf at Abraxas’s insistence, so as to not tip off anyone as to Hermione’s situation.

“Nonsense! It would be on honor! I can see it in your eyes, you’re talented and could easily lead teams into action! I know you’re holding back, Miss Malfoy-Granger. Let me see what you can really do.” The man, Bob Ogden, smirked at her, folding his arms.

“I can’t possibly know what you mean by holding back.” Hermione sniffed, turning her head.

“If you’re not holding back, why do wandless Charms but use your wand for Transfiguration? It makes no difference and you know it. But you didn’t know that I would know it as well. I took a look at your wand, Malfoy-Granger, and that wand has seen action. You’ve seen action. You fought your way out of France under Grindlewald. Magical Law Enforcement always need a reliable person who can work flexibly.” Ogden pressed on.

“My parents were murdered and I fought for my life. I barely escaped.” Hermione mumbled, her face scrunching up, drawing on memories of her real parents to fuel the necessary emotion to cry.

“And yet, you have the stance of a soldier and have nifty little wrist holder for your wand. I could bet you’re a quick draw too.” Ogden made to take hold of her wrist to look at her wand holder, but out of habit Hermione had her wand in her hand and it jabbed into Ogden’s jugular vein before he could complete the motion. She quickly withdrew it with a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

“Fastest I’ve ever seen, and I used to train them all.” Bob Ogden looked at Hermione in awe.

“I am so very sorry. You frightened me and after hiding for so long—“ Hermione blinked tears from her eyes.

“And I have to admit, you’re a very talented actress.” Ogden smirked. Hermione looked at him blankly, all pretenses gone.

“I see. I know that it is highly unlikely I would ever be trusted in any active team, and that I would constantly have to fight for respect and just to do my job. You wish to put me under such duress? It just isn’t done, Mr. Ogden. I thank you for your flattery and kind words, but I am only her to sit my N.E.W.T.s to satisfy my will to complete my education.” Hermione answered him.

“You’d be a trailblazer, but somehow, I get the feeling you’ve done it before.” Ogden said, enigmatically.

“If it will appease you, I will consider a formal, written offer of an interview. Excuse me, Mr. Ogden, I believe we are finished.” Hermione nodded at him, and turned on her heel to leave. A harmless tickling jinx was tossed at her retreating back and Hermione merely turned her wrist to deflect it without reacting otherwise. Bob Ogden shook his head, half in amazement, the other half in amusement. He would certainly be stopping upstairs in his old office and demand that his replacement send her the written request for an interview. He’d give up his memory of her test if that was what it took to convince someone in the DMLE to give her an interview.

 

Hermione was feeling rather uneasy about the situation, and resolved to discuss it with Abraxas and Tom. She found she was rather enjoying their company, in spite of everything she thought she knew. Both were witty and very charming, and Tom was extra cocky with his appointment as Junior Undersecretary to the Director of International Magical Cooperation when his letter of reference from Horace Slughorn sealed his excellent interview performance.

Abraxas flat out refused that Hermione should get involved with the DMLE, while Tom toyed with the idea as a possibility to pursue, should she want to, but her concerns about prejudice and sexism were not far off, no matter how talented she was. Tom had convinced her to spar a few times with him, and he was amazed at her ability and flexibility in dueling and fighting. Her power clung to her, eager to be used by her, whereas his wanted to roll off and overwhelm his opponents and weaken them.

Hermione was not as surprised as Abraxas’s parents Amarantha and Ianus Malfoy when the written invitation for an interview with the head of the DMLE. It was written on crisp parchment and requested her presence for 3 o’clock the next day. After their initial shock, Amarantha took it as her due as loco-parentis to instruct Hermione that while it would be polite and proper to accept the invitation to interview, Hermione should decline any work that would put her in the field and into danger, especially after her ordeal with her poor, poor parents and having to go into hiding. Hermione politely pointed out it was such an ordeal coupled with her N.E.W.T performance that impressed the former DMLE agent that he wanted to recruit her on the spot for field work. The men at the breakfast table smartly held their tongues as Amarantha and Hermione began an very intricate dance of words in which it would be determined if Hermione should or should not accept the interview.

“Cousin, I told Mr. Ogden that I would only consider an invitation for interview if it was written, I did not promise my presence at all.” Hermione soothed, attempting to keep her patience.

“I see. However, it simply just isn’t done, a woman on DMLE patrol.” Amarantha pressed.

“I told him that, but he simply would not listen.” Hermione continued before Tom opened his mouth.

“Ogden? Bob Ogden? That’s who was recruiting you?” Tom asked, quietly, effectively cutting off the conversation.

“Yes, that was the name he gave me when I began my N.E.W.T practical” Hermione answered.

“He arrested my grandfather and uncle Gaunt, if I remember correctly. And my uncle died two years ago in Azkaban. Accused of cursing muggles, particularly the one who abandoned my mother while with child…me.” Tom’s nostrils flared.

“And who would blame your uncle, for protecting his sister’s honor?” Ianus nodded, slightly surprised to hear Tom Riddle, the orphan friend of Abraxas’s, speak of his family. Ianus knew Tom was a half-blood, but a half-blood Gaunt; no wonder Abraxas chose the boy’s company. The Gaunt’s were the last direct line from Salazar Slytherin himself!

“A cruel man who left you in a muggle orphanage after your poor mother passed. Why would I want to arrest citizens for protecting their families?” Hermione, placed a calming hand on Tom’s who looked at her in masked surprise. He wasn’t used to Hermione tendency to touch those she was conversing with, once she had become more or less ‘comfortable’ with them. Hermione on the other hand, didn’t really believe what she was saying, but felt that placating Tom was more important, especially if he’d reached a place where he was comfortable sharing about his family.

“The old ways should be honored.” Ianus nodded in agreement, as did Abraxas.

“That matter is settled, then. Hermione, I believe you will decline the invitation, no?” Amarantha asked in a way that really was a statement.

“Yes, Cousin. I will. I have no place amongst the DMLE.” Hermione smiled tightly, ignoring that she really didn’t want to fight more than agree with their sentiments.

“Good, good.” Amarantha smiled, ending the conversation.

 

After breakfast, Hermione adjourned to her room and penned off a polite decline to the DMLE interview, and started work again on her project of forward time travel, occasionally conversing with Draco via their connected parchments. She’d begun noticing little changes, like the fact he’d discovered pictures in his grandfather’s things of her from the upcoming summer garden party that his great-grandmother was throwing the following week. The name Tom Riddle was now synonymous with Lord Voldemort, and his uprise began 5 years later than it had when Hermione had first arrived in 1945. He still had believed in the prophecy, however, and the amount of horcruxes that Harry had destroy was only 3.

Tom came knocking at her door mid-afternoon.

“Would you care to take tea with me, Hermione?” He asked, taking in the hair that slipped from the braid she’d put it in that morning, and the ink all over her fingers and the growing amount of filled parchment with notes and calculations. Hermione looked up at him. She set down her quill deliberately.

“Of course Tom, I would be delighted.” She smiled, cast a quick spell to clean her fingers, and joined him at the door. They walked in tense silence to the second sitting room, where they would be ensured some privacy. Hermione picked up on his subtle indications that something was bothering him.

Once inside the sitting room, a tea tray already in place thanks to an elf, Tom locked and silenced the room. Hermione immediately tensed and grew defensive.

“Tom, what’s going on?”

“You knew. You knew about my family. I never told you. I never told anyone. I’m sick of you just spouting knowledge that is mine— MINE.” Tom paced angrily, motioning for Hermione to sit.

“Shall I pour, Tom?” Hermione asked, seated.

“I don’t want your pity.” Tom seethed, not paying attention.

“Well good, because I don’t bloody pity you, you arrogant son of an arse!” Hermione burst out, sick of having to stand on propriety for everything. Tom looked at her, shocked out of his rant.

“You don’t? Then what was that statement about my family at breakfast about then?” Tom asked, confused.

“To make it sound like your inbred uncle was protecting his sister’s honor and not muggle baiting! For which he’d been arrested for before!” Hermione huffed and set to serving tea, not bothering with ceremony. Either Tom would drink the tea or not.

“So you know my father is dead, killed with his parents? And that my uncle did it?” Tom asked coldly.

“Yes. Though during the Second War, Dumbledore was quite convinced that you’d done it and altered your uncle’s memories.” Tom snorted at Hermione’s answer.

“Meddling fool.”

“Agreed. He could be wise, and was brilliant, but there is always a fine line between brilliance and madness. Now do you want tea or not? Yours is getting cold.” Hermione sipped delicately from her cup. Tom huffed and sat down.

“Besides, I meant it when I said I didn’t want to work for the DMLE. Not in the field— I’m done fighting. I was never interested in fighting.” Hermione continued.

“You were just forced to by a meddling fool.” Tom snorted.

“You could say that.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What are we going to do with you?” Tom sighed. Hermione was taken aback.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re clearly being noticed. You need a better cover story. I thought that the Malfoys would be coverage enough, but your N.E.W.T. scores might change things.” Tom gave her a bored look. “Couldn’t help showing off, I presume?”

“Absolutely not. I simply did what I knew what already in use by this year. I wasn’t trying, really. I was bored. N.E.W.T.s were harder when I took them, with more complex things to remember. This felt like taking my O.W.L.s again, and that was five years ago!” Hermione replied, annoyed.

“Well, you’re still attracting attention. I have an idea but you may not like it.” Tom put down his cup and steepled his fingers.

“What is it? And please don’t tell me I need to become some society witch like Lady Malfoy,” Hermione groaned theatrically, earning a chuckle from Tom.

“Actually, I was thinking you might be interested in the vacant shop assistant position at Borgin & Burke’s.” Tom smirked.

“Do you really think that the Malfoys would let their cousin, supposed half-blood or not, work in Knockturn Alley?” Hermione reminded him, dourly.

“With your apparent off the charts defense scores— enough to get you an invitation to interview at the DMLE— they may not question it. Besides, the Burkes are still a respected family.” Tom pointed out.

Hermione sighed. “I don’t have a lot of options open to me. I’ve got to be some sort of shop girl or secretary. No matter if I was the Brightest Witch of the Age or not.” 

“What if I escorted you every morning and evening? To Burke’s? You’d get to work with lots of artifacts that require training to handle, and I know Borgin likes trading in rare books.” Tom offered. Hermione just sighed again.

“I’ll tell you what Tom. If you can convince the Malfoys that it is proper for me to work there, then I’ll submit to an interview. Though, I’d really just rather be researching. Why can’t I just do private research?” Hermione griped.

“Because you want independence, which is why you took the N.E.W.T.s Being a shop girl is an easy way for you to deflect attention, besides, you need this. You do remember what I promised you, yes? That I’d provide you with what you needed? You need more than parchment and isolation. You were never meant to be so alone.” It was Tom’s turn to tentatively touch her hand, returning the gesture she’d offered to him twice now. He found it curious move, but the look in her eyes to him was the reward he sought.

“It does get lonely. By the time I went to finish my 7th year at Hogwarts, the professors had so little to teach me. So I did independent study most of the time. Even Draco has trouble keeping up with my arthimancy calculations. We’re close to a proper summation of events that he’ll publish under my name, but a lot of what I can do…” Hermione trailed off. Tom squeezed her hand.

“I understand that feeling. I formed the Knights because I wanted to practice more intricate magic and needed others to assist and they wanted to learn. I wanted as much knowledge as I could, because with knowledge comes power. I taught and I was their leader. But I think I figured out where the biggest flaw was in my plans, Hermione.”

“Which was?” Hermione’s heart suddenly caught in her throat as Tom’s gaze intensified on her.

“Isolation. From what you told me, and what I’d been planning; I ended up alone a lot of the time. I’d always been alone so I didn’t really notice it until I started observing you. You spend so much time locked away, researching and working on incredible things.

**Author's Note:**

> Story kinda stalled out here. Unsure if I will add to it as I've had concerns about it being too similar to other mid century time travel fics. If I continue it, it will likely go up in rating and tags/triggers.


End file.
